


Somewhere in Time

by carmenta



Category: Lions of Al-Rassan - Guy Gavriel Kay
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-24
Updated: 2008-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-14 07:07:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carmenta/pseuds/carmenta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only fools fight side by side with someone they don't know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somewhere in Time

When the crowd of courtiers had followed the king and his not entirely voluntary guest as they took their leave, two men shared a look. Nodded. Fell into step, side by side, as they went to find a place that offered privacy for what they intended to do.

They had refused to fight for the court's amusement. It could have gained them one week's glory, a few more rumours to their names. But glory came at a price, and the rumours were so loud already they sometimes threatened to deafen the truth within. So they both had denied King Badir's request, Jaddite and Asharite alike. They were no court jesters.

But neither were they fools.

Only fools fought side by side with someone whose abilities they did not know. Not against these odds, in a fight that might look like a game at first glance but could turn deadly if their opponents decided they had something to prove. Legends were tempting to fight because of what could be gained in victory.

Ammar ibn Khairan and Rodrigo Belmonte were well aware of that. The legends surrounding their names claimed they had stood up against worse and come out alive to tell the tale. But because they knew when to hedge bets, they still were alive.

So they waited until court was over, until the Lady Zabira was escorted to see her children, Badir's priceless wards that might turn into hostages at the blink of an eye. Whether their mother would share their fate remained to be seen. Tonight, it was unlikely that she cared.

***

The stables of Batiara were a palace unto themselves, built to house a thousand horses, their grooms and the intricate gear needed to turn an animal into a valuable weapon. The company of Rodrigo Belmonte had been given their own section so the precious Esperañan horses were sheltered as befitted their breeding.

The stables were never completely deserted, not even this late at night. Several of Rodrigo's soldiers were standing guard, less to protect against theft - who would be fool enough to steal a horse branded with the company's seal? - but against the eternal fear of fire. When their captain passed, they looked up from their game of dice. Then looked again when they saw who accompanied him. But did not follow.

Rodrigo and ibn Khairan walked in silence. There was nothing that needed to be said, just now - they understood each other, had done so since the moment their eyes had met in Badir's audience chamber earlier. Around corners they turned, walking along dark rows of stalls from where the occasional whicker could be heard. The company's horses knew the rhythm of Rodrigo's footsteps, his scent; they stayed quiet even now that he was accompanied by a stranger. Who might not stay a stranger for long, if Rodrigo had read the currents in court correctly.

Soon they came to an inner yard, used to hold horses while the stables were cleaned. No windows overlooked it, only the closed doors to the stalls; a promise of solitude and shelter from curious eyes. In a corner lay an overturned bucket on ground stomped hard by countless hooves. Smells of hay and horse lingered.

Rodrigo thought of Miranda, of what she might think if she saw him now, two blunted practice swords in hand. One of them he passed to ibn Khairan, who took it without comment. The second he kept for himself. She would call him a man playing boys' games once more, eager to fight with weapons that held no bite. Silently she would prefer this over the alternative. Just as he did.

"Ready?" Rodrigo asked. It was the first time he spoke to ibn Khairan directly.

"Always," came the answer, to more than just his question.

A few swings of the swords to establish their balance, then they moved towards each other. Circling, estimating, watching. Waiting for the right moment. Ibn Khairan found it first, in an attack that was almost playful in its harmlessness. Not that Rodrigo let himself be fooled by it; this was a test, like everything tonight would be. Later on, they would sit back and draw their conclusions, together and by themselves. He led the next bout, with a few standard moves every fighter knew how to counter. What was interesting about them was how they were parried; they told much about the swordsman.

Motions that were designed to be quick were slowed by the weapon's weight, though ibn Khairan adjusted almost immediately. Still, an underlying imbalance lingered. No surprise, at that; a fighter never quite shook the accent of his first teacher, no matter how much he learned and practiced, no matter the talent. In his opponent's moves, Rodrigo saw the determination, the will needed for daily practice. The talent that took him one step above a merely diligent fighter. And he saw the first teacher, who had preached caution over aggression, speed over force. Something he could appreciate.

They went through their first real sequence of thrust and parry, attack and block, then stepped back. Met each other's eyes. Smiled, their breaths rushed with exertion and exhilaration at the same time.

"If Badir knew what he is missing, he would be inconsolable," ibn Khairan said.

Rodrigo laughed. "Two men at sword practice? Far too boring for the court. They want a fight, not this."

The look ibn Khairan gave him was hard to read for an instant, then all of a sudden he relaxed. Only now that the tension in his body language was gone did Rodrigo realize that it had still been there.

"And a fight we will not give them," ibn Khairan said.

Rodrigo shook his head. "Not the one they want. If it ever comes, it will be on a different battlefield." One he did not care to stand upon, he realized, because it meant that one of them would lose.

Their next parry was more reckless, eased by the knowledge that they both knew what this was about. Not a fight, but a way to take each other's measure. A way to let loose and just move, for Rodrigo, without the need to hold back for a young rider or the demands of propriety that dictated a captain was not to risk defeat on the training grounds. He wondered whether ibn Khairan - Ammar, he thought - found men who were willing to practice with the legend. Somehow he thought not.

For a few moments, Ammar took control and Rodrigo let himself be led through them. Because he was watching for it, he saw the shift of weight to the left leg, saw the minute signs of what was to come. Met the attack with one of his own, with enough vigour behind it that he threw Ammar off balance. He pushed him into one of his own tests, one Ammar mastered almost immediately by retreating. A sign of experience, of knowing that glory and pride did not come from being a fool. Only green fighters always stood their ground.

For a little longer they carried on, until the moons' light faded too much to continue. Swords lowered, they looked at each other. For a little while, they just caught their breaths.

"Do we want to name a winner?" Rodrigo asked.

A sardonic smile played on Ammar's face, an expression Rodrigo recognized had nothing to do with humour. "No. The day we know this is the day it all ends."

***

Rodrigo kept his quarters near the stables, not in the main palace as it had been expected of the leader of Badir's newest, most famous mercenary company. It had not been an easy achievement, but with some joking and some careful comments, he managed to have his way. The palace was for court, and while he knew how to play these games, he did not care much for the time and effort they took. Instead he stayed in a place of his own choosing - safer for so many reasons. Not the least that Miranda had ceased to make acerbic comments about court ladies in her letters now. It was better not to provide her with more ammunition than he absolutely had to. It also let him invite guests whose presence would cause no end of speculation.

"So you are a poet after all," Ammar remarked when he spotted quills and paper on Rodrigo's cluttered desk. A half-finished letter lay on top of the mess, but he made no attempt at reading it.

The comment startled a laugh out of Rodrigo. "Hardly," he said. "My wife has given up on receiving verses from me that serenade her beauty. These days she's content with prose."

"I could assist with that," Ammar said. "If you want."

Rodrigo waved off. "Better not. She would never believe it, she would just scold me for pretending. And rightly so." He thought of her, and for an instant he wished she were here so she could meet this man who had crossed his path. What would her opinion be? Rodrigo did not dare guess. "Would wine offend you?" he asked. Badir kept his cellars well stocked, but not all Asharites shared his stance on this matter.

Ammar shook his head. "Not unless it's sour," he said. His pearl earring gleamed in the moonlight that came through the open window.

After the wine was poured, tasted and deemed sufficiently sweet, they stood next to each other once more, Rodrigo leaning against the windowsill, Ammar, more cautious, to the side where he would not be silhouetted by the light. Comfortable silence settled; words mattered, Rodrigo knew, but sometimes there was no need for speech. They both were thinking of the same matters: the turning point they had reached, the ripples in the future it had caused. With Ammar in Batiara now, one more player had chosen a side on this battlefield they would soon find themselves on. Rodrigo wished he could predict the implications, but it felt too much like stumbling around in the mist.

Anything might happen.

"It will be over quickly tomorrow," he said eventually. "I have seen the Karcher fight before. He has no patience. And his friends are the same."

Ammar's fingers toyed with the rim of his cup. "Impatience has its own risks," he said, then looked up and met Rodrigo's eyes. "Stay on my right side," he said.

"Why?"

"Your left leg is a weakness. One of them may notice. Stay where I can guard."

The observation came as a surprise. A twisted knee, healed days ago amidst much scolding from delightful Jehane. Rodrigo did not feel the ache anymore, and much less expected Ammar to notice.

"Keep your high attacks tighter," he said, an offer of advice in return. "You open yourself up for just a moment. Not enough for most fighters to use, but that Jaloñan might just be quick enough."

Ammar nodded his head in agreement and acknowledgement. "Well spotted," he said.

"It is my duty to know these things about anyone who will ride with my company." Rodrigo drained the last of his wine, then set the cup aside. "He will offer you the position and the money you asked for, you know" he said.

Ammar nodded. ""He has decided already, no matter what happens tomorrow. He needs me and he knows it."

Rodrigo turned his head. Ammar's profile was sharply outlined against the darkness outside, his expression thoughtful. How much had he put together about what was likely to happen in the future? Everything, he guessed - nobody with his kind of reputation could possibly be too blind to see the sighs of things to come.

"Whatever the future may bring," Ammar said, "know that it pleases me to be here. I could not wish for better company."

Rodrigo nodded. "We wait," he said, "for what may or may not happen. We may as well wait together."

Ammar raised his cup, a slight smile on his face. "We shall make a poet of you yet."

***

On the next day, they fought together. To the court it was a spectacle to see the amazing coordination between the two. As though they read each other's thoughts, some of the courtiers whispered. And that when they had never seen each other fight.

Fools.


End file.
